


A Boy Manufactured

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Robot/Human Relationships, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:53:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren knows robots—he knows how to make them, how to fix them, how to program them. He knows what robots can do, and he knows what they're incapable of. That is until he meets an android that calls itself Chris, derailing absolutely everything Darren <i>thought</i> he knew about robots.</p><p>
  <b>THIS WORK IS UNFINISHED. IT HAS BEEN DISCONTINUED.</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maintenance Required

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Warning, long ass author note ahead.)
> 
> This is kind of unlike anything I have ever written, and I'm terribly excited about it, but because I don't have a lot of experience writing things in the realm of sci-fi, I ask that you guys please bear with me - I know very, very little about robotics or the technology involved with them. I am making things up as I go. I am inventing words. Most of the time, I have no idea what I'm talking about, and I am drawing my knowledge from things like Astro Boy, or Chobits, or JARVIS from Iron Man, or from the wonderful Klaine fic [Songbird](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7274413/1/Songbird) by Salazarfalcon.
> 
> This idea came around thanks to these two comics ([x](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/83957052671/kelpls-runaway-robot-breaks-into-a-workshop-to) [x](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/83844018417/kelpls-i-made-a-comic-from-the-mechanic-robot)) I saw on tumblr, and this first part is certainly based on them. The storyline afterwards, however, is completely of my own concoction - not that it's unlike other robot-human love stories out there (because yes, this is a love story).
> 
> And thanks to Bee, who helped me pull a title out of an Ingrid Michaelson song and lyrics that I have always found inspiring but have never tried to turn into a fic before.
> 
> And thanks to Sarah, who is a fucking enabler. XP Then again, the CC fandom needs more AUs.
> 
> Now, without further ado, the most AU thing I have ever AU'd:

The _crash_ wakes Darren up instantly, and he's fumbling for the lamp beside his bed and the laser pistol he keeps beneath his pillow. Being a mechanic isn't generally a life-threatening job, but Darren is used to people attempting to break-in—he expects it, really. He has dozens of security measures and traps in place, but it never stops people from trying to get to the hundreds-of-thousands of dollars worth of parts he has stored in his shop. It prevents them, sure, but it hasn't exactly helped him get a good night's sleep.

Then again, in this day-and-age, everyone is a little bit paranoid.

Darren moves quietly, body rushing with adrenaline. Because there have been attempts to break in, but _nobody_ has ever actually managed to. Whoever it is, they have to be smart… And yet not smart enough to be careful? If Darren recognized the noise well enough, the intruder had knocked over an entire stack of oil canisters. What kind of idiot thief makes that kind of mistake?

There's a light on—a _really_ idiot thief then—and Darren can hear distinct clacking noises, as if someone is rooting around through everything and not trying very hard to be quiet about it. Darren automizes his pistol, his breathing becoming shallow as he inches closer. He might have a laser pistol, but he's never shot it outside of a range before. Darren's not even sure how prepared he _is_ to shoot another person. He only has one to protect himself, really; maybe to scare intruders if the need came to it.

He could just call the Whites. There's no way this thief hasn't realized how much noise they're making, how they must have alerted whoever lived there. If they're smart, they should expect the Whites to show up any minute now. But then there's another loud _crash_ and a hissing noise, and Darren doubts this thief is very smart at all.

If that's the case, how the _fuck_ did they get past all of his security measures?

The light is coming from his workshop, which… Is not what Darren expected, actually. He keeps all of the parts with any value in a special, extra-secure room. The only things in his workshop are old parts he's restoring, or tools, and while some of them are expensive, none of them are exactly top-of-the-line or even the most recent models.

If it's just Circuit being a little shit, Darren is going to be _pissed_.

Then again, cats can't really work light switches, can they?

When Darren is closer to the door (which has been left open), there's a sudden flicker of white-blue light, one that Darren is very familiar with. The intruder is… Using his tools? _Why?_

Laser pistol in his hand, he peeks around the corner, and his eyes widen as they fall on a boy. Or maybe a man. Darren is having a hard time telling which one, and then as his eyes travel down, he understands why. The boy who is not really a boy at all has stripped out of his pants, and one of his legs is cut clean in half at the middle of his left thigh. It's not exactly strange, of course, for a person to require robotic appendages—what _is_ strange is the fact that there isn't skin and muscle in the top part of his leg, just more metal and wiring.

Darren can't tell if it's a boy or a man because it's _neither_ —it's a robot, who just looks strikingly like a human. More like a human than Darren has ever seen a robot look. It's… A little unnerving, actually, and yet fascinating. Because this is what Darren's entire life revolves around—robots, how they're made, how they work, how they can be improved. To see a robot that is so much more advanced just on the _surface_ makes Darren's head spin.

The second he moves for a closer look, the robot stops what it's doing and looks over at him simultaneously, at a speed that couldn't be anything but inhuman. If machines could show fear, maybe the robot would—instead, it stares straight at Darren with unblinking, luminescent blue eyes.

The robot doesn't say anything. It doesn't move, and it doesn't stop staring at Darren, even as Darren shifts to lean against the door, relaxing his finger on the pistol but not letting it go completely. He knows robots, and he knows how dangerous they can be when they aren't functioning properly.

"So you're my intruder, huh?" Darren asks, feeling more at ease with the knowledge that he most likely won't be murdered. He crosses his arms and surveys the robot, who still doesn't move.

"I do not understand," the robot finally says. It's voice is monotonous, but not in the way Darren expects from a robot—it sounds like a human who simply feels nothing, and Darren finds himself feeling unnerved again.

"You broke into my shop," Darren clarifies.

"Something is wrong," the robot continues. Darren looks down at the open array of wires and circuitry that the robot had been fiddling with—it doesn't look too high tech at all, which is surprising given how much work must have been put into the aesthetic features of the robot alone. Darren notices that one cable has been double-backed in a way it _definitely_ isn't supposed to, and can't help but grin.

"I can see that." Darren steps closer, cautious at first and then with more abandon as the robot doesn't react. As much time as Darren spends around robots, he's not used to ones that… Well, that look like someone he might walk past on the street. He keeps expecting the robot to react like a human—to be scared, to shrink away, to ask questions. But it doesn't. "I'm guessing you don't know very much about robot mechanics, huh?" Darren asks, crouching down to inspect the revealed circuitry of the leg. He undoes the wire the robot had wrongly tried to fix, and then marvels at a few things he absolutely does not recognize. He whistles, low and impressed.

"I do not," the robot agrees, and Darren glances up at it. It's not a common thing for robots to have self repair functions, but it's a little strange that someone wouldn't include it in a robot of this calibre.

Darren shifts uncomfortably where he's bent over, and then rocks back, huffing out a breath. Trying to survey damage done to a robot while it's basically sprawled on his floor isn't exactly conducive to possibly fixing it. He reaches forward to pick the robot up, and then hesitates.

"Er… I'm going to pick you up now," Darren tells it, and the robot just stares at him. Darren doesn't even know why he's _clarifying_ , but it feels weird to just… Pick someone up without telling them first.

Then he reminds himself that this isn't a _someone_ , it's a _something_.

He scoops the robot up, surprised by how light it is—it must be a newer type of alloy that he isn't familiar with, which could pose a few problems that he doesn't dwell on right at the moment—before he deposits the robot on his slightly-cluttered work desk. He fetches the leg next, surprised at how realistic the skin on the outside is. It gives him goosebumps in the worst kind of way, and he sets it aside.

Then he steps back and frowns. Generally, when he's repairing a robot, he runs a diagnostics test while also addressing any noticeable flaws—in this case, the severed leg. Except the leg hasn't been broken or ripped off, as far as he can tell. It was manually removed… But by who? The robot? Someone else?

"Do you have a port anywhere?" Darren asks, stepping closer. Most humanoid robots have ports running up what would be the human spine, but, again, Darren feels invasive just… Undressing this one. Maybe if it would stop staring at him with eyes that certainly aren't human, but that make him feel uneasy.

"I do not understand," the robot says again, and Darren's eyebrows furrow.

"Turn around." The robot does, without question, and Darren reaches up to pull down the neck of the sweater the robot is dressed in. There's no port on his neck, and, when Darren pushes the hair at the nape of his neck out of the way, hair that _feels_ disturbingly real, there appears to be some kind of burn. He pulls the neck down lower, but… Still nothing. What the fuck?

"State date of last diagnostics report," Darren commands, and the robot turns to look at him in a too-sudden movement, making Darren stumble back in surprise.

"I do not understand."

Darren blinks at it, running his fingers through his hair and looking around like the answer to all of the puzzles that broke into his workshop might be lying around in unused robotics parts. "I am in way over my head," he mumbles. "Turn back around?" And the robot does, its body shifting while its head stays where it is, and its so unnatural that Darren has the urge to just… Look away.

"I can at least put your leg back on for you… Hopefully," Darren mumbles, unsure as to why he's making smalltalk with a robot. He hitches up the robots half-thigh, carefully rolling back the pair of boxer-briefs its dressed in. He switches on the light above, pulling a stool over with his foot, and then falling into it in a practiced movement as he puts his face closer to all the cords and wires that are familiar, and yet at the same time… Absolutely foreign. It might look like simple technology at first glance, but even this much closer, it's clear that it's not. Darren can only imagine what he would see if he pulled out his magnifier.

As far as he can tell, the previously misplaced wire aside, nothing appears to be wrong. A few things are a little tangled, but that wouldn't cause enough problems to justify removing the entire leg of a robot. As he looks closer, a part of him acknowledges that, were this robot a human, he would be eye-level with its cock. Robots don't generally have a gender associated with them, but someone went through a lot of effort to _make_ this robot look male, and Darren can't help but wonder _how_ much effort… His face grows hot and he pulls back. It's not unheard of, but even robots created with that kind of purpose in mind never look _this_ real.

"Everything seems fine on that side," Darren mumbles, almost as if he's explaining his sudden draw back to the robot. Explaining himself to a robot… What's next? Then again, it wouldn't be the first time this evening. "This would be a lot easier if I could run a diagnostics report…" He muses to himself, and then glances up at the robot, who is still steadily staring at him. "Run diagnostics report," he commands. If it can't be done externally, it must be hardwired in somewhere.

"I do not understand," the robot repeats, and Darren growls with frustration. He rakes a hand through his curls again.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" He asks himself more than anything.

"Function to the left leg has failed," the robot answers, and Darren stares up at it in shock. "Mobility has been decreased to 43%. I require immediate assistance."

 _Huh_. That's a new one. Customized commands aren't unusual, especially in humanoid robots, and Darren has done it for customers before, but the commands aren't usually so… _Human_.

"It must be something with the other part of the leg, then…" Darren glances at it, feels strange picking it up and inspecting it. Holding a robotic leg isn't weird, but one that looks like a human leg… Darren decides not to concentrate on that, focusing instead on the dozens upon dozens of wires feeding out of the open end. Mobility function has failed, which means he's looking for a… Ah! There it is. His hand sweeps across his workspace until it comes upon a wire cutter, and he eases it gently into the leg until he can look at a thick, purple cord more closely. It's high-end, but something has happened to the protective coating on the outside, the damage bad enough that a few of the exterior wires in the bundle have been cut or badly frayed.

"I have some good news and some bad news," Darren says, like he's a doctor speaking to a patient rather than a mechanic speaking to a machine. The robot stares at him blankly. "The good news is I found the problem." He holds up the separated part of the leg. "The bad news is I don't carry the part you need to fix it. I can order it, but it'll take a few days…" He trails off, staring at the robot curiously. It's not a cheap part to replace, and Darren is under no obligation to do it, but when he's staring into those glowing blue eyes, he… He just _wants_ to fix it. This robot is a piece of art, and it deserves to be complete.

"Um, in the meantime, I probably have an extra leg around here I can hook you up to… It won't be as responsive as your own leg, or look as nice, but you'll be able to walk at least," Darren babbles as he stands up and sifts through a nearby closet. He knows he's talking more for his own sake than anything else, but he's always been a talker—even when his projects are just run-of-the-mill cleaning or music droids, he talks to them, and those ones don't even look remotely human.

He glances over his shoulder, hoping to maybe catch the robot off guard, but no. It's still looking intently at him, the same way it has been since Darren found it.

Darren finds the most recent robotic model he can spare for a few days, and holds it up victoriously, before grabbing a few more of his tools and settling down on his stool again. He slips an eye-piece over his right eye, pressing at the side until he gets the magnification just right for the smallest wires in the robot's leg. There are so many that he's unfamiliar with, that are far ahead of even his most advanced models. He has no idea what their purpose is, but he hopes the robot can do without them functioning for a few days. Darren works on capping those first, so the wires don't get damaged sitting inside the temporary leg, whose technology seems ancient next to the robot's.

"You are just… Spectacular," Darren hums, admiring the metal frame. It's made of two incredibly thin sheets of perforated alloy (Darren assumes), which explains why the robot itself is so light. There's around a fourth of an inch between the plates, and between them runs more wires. The most amazing part is the wires that appear to be running through the metal itself, so thin that Darren can hardly see them even with the magnifier. There are probably several _thousand_ of them within the whole robot, and it's like nothing Darren has ever seen before.

And this is just the _leg_. Darren can't imagine what the inside of the chest cavity looks like, or the head.

"I've never seen an android before," Darren continues conversationally, picking up the replacement leg and starting to prep the wires inside—there aren't even half as many, but he's making due with what he has. Thankfully, it looks like the lock-in bolts that already exist in the robot's shell will match up well enough with the leg he has. Thank _god_. "I mean, I've seen a few attempts at them before, but they're very clearly still robots. But you…" Darren shakes his head and smiles a bit. "I couldn't pick you out as a metal-made in a crowd, that's for sure." Darren pauses in his work to look up, pierced again by those glowing blue eyes. "You look almost human."

"That is intentional," the robot replies. "I was made to look human."

Darren straightens up, leaning closer to the robot—again, he expects a human response, like the robot becoming uncomfortable with their sudden proximity, but the robot doesn't flinch even a centimeter.

"Well, you do. Don't worry about that. You have a very human face…" Darren tilts his head to the side. "Except for the eyes, of course." Darren grins a bit. "But otherwise… Not bad. I'd even go as far as to say you're kinda cute." Darren blinks for a few seconds, and then turns away, frowning at himself. Yeah, the robot _looks_ human, and Darren tends to find other human beings attractive, but… It's a robot. Robots can certainly be aesthetically pleasing, but _fuck_ , this one is throwing him for a loop.

"There's more to being human than just looking it, though." He settles back down, hiking the new leg up between his legs as he begins to connect what wires he can.

"Explain," the robot says, and Darren smiles.

"You're too still. You don't fidget, or shift your weight, or _blink_. Your eyes don't wander around, and your face is completely passive…" Darren lists, focusing intently on his work at the same time. "When you do move, it's too quick, and your voice is just… One straight tone. It doesn't rise or fall. It's just completely apathetic."

"I do not understand."

Darren huffs out a laugh, glancing up at the robot with wry amusement.

"You can hack past all of my security, but you can't hook up to my wifi?" Darren shakes his head.

"I do not understand."

This time, Darren looks up in confusion. Even the simplest robots have internet capabilities—how can one _this_ advanced lack them?

"Maybe while you're here, I'll perform some upgrades…" he mumbles to himself. It will certainly make the robot more user friendly, and will give Darren a chance to look inside its head.

He hisses suddenly, drawing his hand back as it rubs against one of the revealed bolts on the temp leg. "Jesus fucking christ," he curses under his breath, frowning down at the short, shallow gash on his palm. Suddenly, a hand is curling around his wrist, and Darren lets out a befuddled, "Wha—?" as the robot inspects his hand… Curiously.

Well. Maybe this robot can emote a bit after all.

"What is this?" The robot asks, and Darren stares at him in wonder. "You are leaking oil. Do you require assistance?"

Darren laughs in surprise.

"No, I'm—no. I'm fine. And it's not oil, it's _blood_."

The robot continues to stare at it, and it's starting to sting a little, but Darren lets him. This is the first time Darren has seen the robot look anything other than absolutely aloof—although Darren wonders if it has anything to do with what he said about passing for human.

Darren can't help but think, as the robot inspects his hand more closely, that it looks kind of adorable this way.

"When people get hurt, they bleed," he continues to explain, and is surprised as the robot reaches out and presses his finger against the wound. Darren winces at the pressure.

"It's… Warm. And wet," the robot surmises.

"Yeah, it's—wait." Darren stares at the robot, immensely confused. "How do you know that?" There's no way a robot could know how something feels by touching it—it goes against a lot of what a robot _is_. One of the reasons robots have taken up so many jobs and responsibilities that once belonged to humans is because they don't _feel_ —pain, fatigue, hunger, exhaustion. A robot could have its body cut clean in half, and while it might stop working, it wouldn't _feel_ or _know_ it was being cut in half.

So how can this robot that looks so much like a human _feel_ something? It… It doesn't make sense at all.

Darren is starting to wonder what exactly it is that wandered into his shop in the middle of the night, because whatever this robot is, it isn't normal.

"I touched it," the robot explains, answering his question, even though it _doesn't_ answer his question _at all_. Darren decides not to think about it, not right now… It's late, and he's doing work that he shouldn't be doing with so little sleep.

He flips open the knee cap on the replacement leg, tightening the wires to draw it closer to the robot's body, and then activating the bolts. It clicks into place, and Darren lets out a sigh of relief at the success. The metal shell is thicker than the robot's, extending about an eighth of an inch out past the robot's skin, but it'll do for a few days.

"There." Darren sit backs and admires his handy work—not his best, but it is past three in the morning and he's working with what he has. "How's that feel?"

"Sufficient," the robot replies. It flexes the ankle, stretches the leg out at the knee, and Darren is satisfied. "Left leg function partially back online. Functioning at 47%. Mobility is at 89%."

Darren's eyebrows raise—the leg is only functioning at 47%? Those wires he knows nothing about must do quite a lot.

"Well, stand up, try it out." Darren pushes back on his stool to get out of the way, and watches as the robot shifts from sitting on the workbench to standing—and then immediately laughs. The robot is taller than most standard models, and because of that, the temp leg is too short, leaving the robot tilting slightly to the side to stay balanced.

"Leg is approximately 2.78 inches too short," the robot reports, and Darren grins into his hand.

"You'll have to live with it for a few days. For now, feel free to hop back up on the bench and power down."

The robot complies with the first order, but then just sits there, staring at Darren, and he's just _waiting_ to hear the, "I do not understand," response. It could be worse, Darren figures—at least it doesn't say something like _does not compute_ or _command not recognized_. Again, he wonders if it's something in the customization, the same thing that requires the commands to sound more human. Someone went through a lot of trouble to make this robot look and sound less like a machine and more like a human, and Darren can't help but be curious as to _why_.

"Um…" Darren chews his lip, thinking. "Sleep mode?" He tries. "Time for bed? Go to bed? Sleep time? Oh! Go to sleep?" Darren waits, but still… Nothing. "Good night?" He ventures.

"Good night," the robot parrots, and Darren is sure he got it, but… There's still no change. Darren grasps at his hair again, thinking—if he had programmed a robot to respond to more-human sounding commands, he'd probably put in safety protocols. If a robot shut down just from a simple phrase, there would have to be a way to differentiate it from people just _saying_ the phrase in normal conversation. The best way to do that would be with a tone key, but if this robot had that kind of security, Darren would have already hit the security walls when asking it questions. So it must be something more simple…

"Do you have a name?" Darren asks it as the idea dawns on him, and the robot surveys him for a few moments. Its eyes really are fascinating, the irises nearly human-looking in design, aside from the way they radiate light in the dim room. Most robots include sensory cameras, and the ones in this particular model must be incredibly small and of ridiculously high quality—Darren can't even see them.

"I am called Chris," the robot finally responds.

"Chris?" Darren double-checks, unsure if he's heard correctly. Some people do nickname their robots, but robots generally don't accept those as their true name—they'll respond to them, of course, but when asked for their name, they basically always state their model and serial numbers.

But this robot doesn't list off any numbers.

"Yes," the robot confirms, and Darren can't help but smile around his complete befuddlement.

"Well then… Good night, Chris."

"Good night." The robot goes still, and Darren feels relieved that his idea worked—before he realizes that the robot has closed its eyes. The blue light is gone, and the shop is quiet aside from breathing—Darren's, and the robot's (well, Chris's). Robots don't need to breathe, and yet this one is… Almost like it really is sleeping, even while sitting up.

Darren has the urge to reach forward and touch the eyelids—he's never seen a robot with _eyelids_ before—but refrains. If the robot (Chris, he reminds himself) is really just in some kind of sleep mode, touching him could wake him up and potentially activate any defense systems. He seems harmless enough, but Darren can already tell that this particular robot is a lot more than he seems.

And somehow he ended up in Darren's shop.

There are a lot of questions he wants to ask, and while robots are supposed to assist mankind, Darren has the feeling that getting answers out of this particular robot isn't going to be easy.

He smiles to himself as he clicks off the light, taken aback by the incredibly faint blue glow that starts to pulse through the room. It's coming from the robot, of course, a dim beacon from behind his eyes that Darren hadn't been able to see with the lights on. It fades in and out, in time with the robot's unnecessary breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Read & Reblog on Tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/83970987884/a-boy-manufactured-pt-1-maintenance-required)


	2. Repairs in Progress

Darren has never really had any surreal moments in his life that made him straight out wonder if he was dreaming. That's not to say that Darren's life is boring, just that his dreams are rather fantastical, and even in a world operated almost entirely by technology, nothing has ever seemed out of place to him.

Until the robot, of course.

When Darren wakes up a mere four hours later, he stares through the darkness at his ceiling and wonders how the robot _could_ be real. If androids that advanced existed, wouldn't he have heard about them? Wouldn't people be talking about them? Wouldn't every upperclass citizen tote one around like a status symbol?

There's always been that hope that Darren would see the day that robotics would approach these sorts of advancements, except he always assumed it would be much, _much_ further in his future. And that the robots wouldn't be so indiscernible from _actual_ humans.

It's one of those fears that still thrives, the paranoia that the robots will get too smart, become too developed, will overthrow their creators and eliminate them completely. Rules and laws have been put into place to prevent those things, of course, fail safes that are hardcoded into every robot that is manufactured, whether it be in mass-assembly or the hands of a tinkerer working out of their garage. As the things scientists and engineers can do advances, so do the safety protocols.

Darren always remembers the neighbor he had growing up—she was an old, cranky woman by the name of Mrs. Burgundy that used to watch him when his parents needed a babysitter and literally had no other options. All of the technology she owned was _ancient_ , and she still seemed incredibly wary of it, practically jumping out of her skin when her microwave pinged. One time, Darren had brought over a VERT-U, what had then been the newest virtual reality handheld gaming device. He'll never forget the way Mrs. Burgundy had screamed at the sight of it, babbling about the loss of his soul and the poor state of humanity. Needless to say, his parents never left him alone with her after that.

He knows a few years later, she was suffering from severe lung problems—the doctors offered her the option of having them replaced with the mechanical alternative, but she'd declined, choosing to let her lungs fail naturally and kill her than have something manmade put into her body.

Darren rubs his chest, blinking in the darkness before deciding he really needs to get in the shower and eat before his first appointment in an hour.

In the end, a lot of people are afraid of the advances robotics have made, especially in the last fifty or so years. Darren always figured that if realistic androids ever became a reality, that fear would halt development just a hair short of life-like. Darren had always liked the idea of some sort of glowing-ring feature, around maybe the neck or fingers, where it was enough to let people know they were interacting with a robot but not _so_ distracting that it would detract from the android looking as human as possible.

Sure, this robot has eyes that glow, but aside from that… It's almost like someone wanted it to blend in with humans as much as possible.

Darren frowns into the onslaught of shower water, and then shakes his head. He has too many questions, and while he wants answers, he has no immediate way of getting them. The only source of information he has is the robot itself, and he doesn't exactly have the time to sit around and try to figure out his way through all of its custom protocols.

That, and if Darren has to hear it say, "I do not understand," one more time, he's going to shove a laser cutter into its mainframe.

*

The workroom is still dark, save for that faint glowing light coming from the robot, which is still exactly where Darren left it. He flicks on all the lights as he goes just as he would any other morning, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth as he powers on machines and gets ready to open for the day. The last thing he does is walk up to the robot, chewing his breakfast as he looks at it. Even staring right at it, it still doesn't seem real.

Glancing at the clock, Darren knows he's wasted enough time. His first appointment will be there soon, and Darren cannot have this robot sitting on his worktable. Actually, Darren can't have this robot anywhere other people might see it. He has no idea where this robot came from, or who it belongs to, or how it even _exists_ , and the last thing Darren needs is people getting nosy about it and asking questions that he definitely can't answer. It wouldn't be long until the Whites showed up, because there's no way something like this would stay under wraps for long. And Darren doesn't want to begin to think about all the laws and codes this robot is breaking just by existing. He certainly doesn't want to get the blame pinned on him for it.

Remembering how he got the robot to "turn off," he has a few ideas of how to wake it up, but it feels… Weird. As much as Darren talks to robots, it's always been more like talking to a pet. It's never been like talking to another person.

"Good morning…" Darren pauses, and the name feels all wrong on his tongue when he says, "Chris."

Nothing.

Okay, so that apparently isn't the fucking _secret password_.

If a robot is just going to randomly appear in his shop and be all mysterious and shit, the least it could do is come with an owner's manuel or a cheat sheet— _something_.

"Time to get up, Chris," Darren continues, and almost reaches out to touch and shake the robot—but he stops himself, reminds himself that it's a _robot_. "Come on, wakey wakey, Chris." Darren taps his foot, feeling the aggravation he was too tired to feel the night before that this robot can't work like any other robot. "Wake up, Chris."

The robot opens its eyes—not in slow, tired blinks, the way a human would. No, one second they're closed, and the next, they're open, and it doesn't look the least bit drowsy, eyes glowing just as they had the night before.

"Do your eyes have to glow?" Darren can't stop himself from asking, and the robot doesn't answer immediately, apparently looking around and taking in its surroundings. Then its gaze snaps to Darren, and it responds with a simple, toneless, "No," before the light flickers off and…

Leaves the robot looking more human than ever.

Maybe Darren should have told it to keep them on.

He rocks back, feeling uncomfortable the way he would probably feel if he was talking to a space alien, and then turns around.

"I have to open my shop, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to be down here. I hope you don't mind hanging out in my living room for the next three days," Darren says, more to the wall of the shop than to the robot. "So… Follow me, I guess."

Darren can hear it move—not that it creeks or whirs or clangs. He hears the shift of clothing as it slides off the table, and expects to hear the impact of its metal body as it touches the floor but… It's just the sound of bare feet against concrete, and Darren can feel goosebumps on his arms. He feels like he'd be more equipped to listen to his microwave sing opera of its own free will than this.

He leads the robot out of the workshop and up the stairs to his home, not once looking back to make sure its following him. He just knows, the way he would know if it was another human being, and that thought alone nearly makes him look back, just to make this whole situation a little more manageable.

He doesn't look, though. It feels stupid to look when he already knows.

Generally, when he leads someone into his home, he says something—"Welcome to my humble abode," or, "Sorry about the mess," or, "So this is where I live." He doesn't say anything this time, more out of force than anything. Robots do not require small talk, and Darren needs to keep the line between "robot" and "human" thick and un-blurred.

"You can sit down over there." Darren gestures to where his couch and a chair are arranged into a sitting area, and the robot follows his direction, sitting down in the chair and then turning to look at him. Darren rocks on his feet, and just stops himself from asking the robot if it wants anything to eat or drink before he heads down to the shop.

Robots don't _need_ to eat and drink.

At least, not usually. This robot isn't exactly usual, though.

Still, Darren can't make himself ask. Instead, he grabs two glasses from a kitchen cabinet, filling both of them with water. He sets one down on the counter, and then chugs the other, looking at the robot over the rim of the glass the whole time he drinks. Then he clearly sets the glass in the sink.

When he's done, he's not quite sure what that whole display was for. He'd basically been telling the robot, _This is water and it is for drinking_ , through informative pantomime. Which is ridiculous because _robots do not drink water_.

He doesn't dump the cup out, though.

Instead, he checks his watch and curses under his breath, pushing off the kitchen counter and heading back for the stairs.

"…I have to go work now. I'll, uh, be back later." After that, Darren doesn't know what else to say—he doesn't even know why he said _that_ much. He pauses at the top of the stairs and looks back at the robot, who is staring straight at him. "So. Wait here." He puts his hands up, like he's talking to a dog. "Stay."

When the robot makes no move to follow him, Darren nods as if pleased with himself, and then heads down to work.

*

He spends his entire day feeling distracted—well, more distracted than usual.

Darren doesn't have the best attention span in the world sometimes, but work is the one thing he knows he _can_ focus on. After all, not focusing on something like robotic mechanics could be life-threatening for all parties involved.

The problem is that his mind keeps slipping back to the robot sitting upstairs in his apartment, and while he's pretty sure it hasn't led to any seriously bad mistakes on his part, he's working at half his normal speed and hurting himself way more than normal.

If that wasn't bad enough, his customers notice.

"You feeling all right there, bud?" Mr. Michaels asks him as he pinches his finger between two metal plates. He's an older man, and he's all metal from his right knee down. Darren sees him every two weeks, if not more, due to a locked-up knee or a poking wire. But he's a pretty nice guy, all his knit-picky complaining aside, and Darren likes him well enough.

"Fine, Mr. Michaels. Just haven't been sleeping enough." Darren smiles, and then focuses back on his work. It's true to a degree, but Darren hasn't been sleeping enough for at least half a decade now. It's been a long time since not getting a decent night's sleep has impeded his ability to work.

He concentrates on replacing the lubricant in the leg, not even bothering with his usual spiel of trying to get Mr. Michaels to invest in one of better quality so that he didn't have to come and see Darren _so fucking often_. Darren just doesn't have the energy, or the attention, to do it today, not when he already knows the answer will be the same thing it always is.

Mr. Michaels takes his excuse at face value, beginning to ramble about his own sleep cycles and well-meaning advice that Darren nods along to but doesn't try to listen to. Normally he's better at this, but it's hard not to think of the robot when he was hooking up a leg quite similar to this one not twelve hours ago.

Darren wishes now that he hadn't been so tired, actually. He'd been working almost entirely on autopilot, and his addled brain hadn't taken in a lot of what he was seeing. How much had he overlooked at the one glimpse inside the robot that he got? Will he get another chance to see inside of it, with keener eyes and better light?

When Mr. Michaels leaves and Darren has washed the oil and grease from his hands, he heads back up to his living room and peeks his head inside. The robot is still exactly where Darren left him, and Darren convinces himself that he looked over when he heard the sound of the door rather than entertain the idea that the robot has been staring at it for the last several hours. Like it was waiting for him.

Do robots even comprehend waiting aside from accepting it as a command? It's not like they have better things to do, after all.

He can't help but glance over at the counter, where the glass of water is still sitting, completely untouched. Yeah, that had been kind of a stupid thing for him to do.

Without saying anything, Darren heads back down to work—he has an order due in a few days, and while he'd normally put it off, at the rate he's working it's probably going to take a lot longer than usual to finish.

Darren tries to tell himself that it's the first and only time he's going to check on it, but even as he's walking down the stairs, he knows that isn't true.

*

Despite all of the trips Darren makes up to his apartment over the course of the afternoon, when he finally closes up shop for the day, he lingers. He spends extra time washing himself up, even though he has a perfectly good shower for him waiting upstairs. He cleans better than he has in months, wiping down machines and making them fucking _pristine_. He re-organizes his tools, and all the spare parts he owns, and then catalogues them for monthly inventory, which is another thing he never does because he's his own boss and he hates paperwork.

He's not the stalling type, but he knows that's exactly what he's doing. He's keeping himself from going upstairs, because once he does… Then what? There isn't some guide to social etiquette around robots, because no robot advanced enough exists for someone to invent one.

Except that apparently one _does_ , and Darren has the unfortunate experience of getting to tread paths that no one has even thought about yet.

It's the hunger that gets to him, more than the bone-aching exhaustion and the buzzing curiosity that he hasn't been able to rid himself of. Yeah, he's wary, and unsure, and maybe there's even a part of him that's scared, but there's a bigger part that craves to know absolutely everything about this robot. A part of him that wants to take it apart, piece by piece, all the way down to its most basic components, just to understand how it works.

And maybe Darren would do that, if he was positive he could put it back together at the end of the day. Usually not knowing how to fix something he breaks isn't a roadblock for him—he'll just find a new way to fix it, his _own_ way. But he's just not confident in his own ability. There's no way he could build anything as remarkable as the machine sitting on his couch.

When he pushes the door open, he isn't surprised to see that the robot is right where it has been every single time Darren has walked in, staring at Darren the same way it has _every single other time_. What he is surprised by is the fact that all the lights in the living room are on, which is definitely not something he did. And when he glances around the room, the water cup is gone. Darren's eyes widen and he runs to the sink, where two empty glasses sit, side-by-side.

He turns to look at the robot with large eyes, feeling both alarmed and like he's on the brink of the greatest discovery of the decade—fuck that, of the age of _robotics_.

"Did you _drink_ this?" Darren asks, voice incredulous, and the robot surveys him with its blank face.

"No," it responds, voice smooth. If it was human, it would be rough from hours of disuse. "I emptied the water from the cup and set the cup in the sink," it elaborates, and Darren blinks at it. "Was the water intended for drinking?"

"Do you drink water?" Darren counters.

"I do not."

"…do you drink anything?"

The robot almost seems to… Hesitate? Darren shakes his head, sure he's making things up.

"It is not necessary," the robot finally continues. "But I am not incapable."

 _Not incapable?_ What does that even _mean?_

Darren remembers school, remembers college, and how difficult it had been for him. He's not a dumb guy, but choosing to go into robotics had been choosing a difficult road. Luckily for him, robotics and the engineering and science and mathematics that goes into it has always made sense to Darren, even when it never made sense to anyone else around him.

It's frustrating that he _doesn't_ get this, that he _doesn't_ understand. That it feels like he's back in school, only this time all the professors are speaking a language that Darren's never even heard of.

"Why did you do that?" Darren just keeps asking questions, even as he leans back against the kitchen counter and stares at the floor, the weight of his confusion making him feel weak.

"Elaborate?"

Darren cracks a smile—how many times has he heard a robot use such an eloquent term for "explain"?

"You emptied the cup, and put it in the sink. Why?" Darren looks up.

"Is that not what you wanted me to do?" The robot inquires, and Darren just… Stares.

It shouldn't be weird. Robots follow orders, that's what they _do_ , but… Darren had never given the order, not really. The robot had watched him drink the water and set the glass in the sink, and although Darren had been leading by example, he'd berated himself for it. Robots have a low-functioning AI that adjusts to the user, that can only learn bits and pieces of knowledge through continuous repetition.

But not this one. Darren had done something, and the robot had followed his lead.

Just like a person would have.

"This is way too much…" Darren mutters, and he ambles towards his fridge. For some reason, alcohol seems like the best possible remedy to this situation.

The room is silent, which Darren should be used to, but it can't help feeling wrong when there's another presence in the room. Darren had stopped thinking that robots even _had_ presence—he spends so much time around them that unless he's interacting with one directly, he might as well be around a chair.

But this robot absolutely has presence, and it just sets Darren further on edge.

"Do I make you uncomfortable?" The robot asks out of nowhere, and Darren whips around to look at it, the neck of his beer pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

"You ask questions now?"

The robot blinks slowly, the movement filling the seconds of his pause.

"Would you prefer I did not ask questions?"

And Darren can't help it—he laughs. Not because it's funny, but because it's ridiculous. Robots looking like people. Robots learning by example. Robots asking questions. Robots responding to commands like, "Good night," and, "Wake up." It's all so _fucking_ ridiculous, and Darren has absolutely _lost_ it.

Somehow, it helps. It's like Darren was just waiting for it all to become too much, for it to break him, before he could actually come to terms with it.

There is a _robot_ in his _apartment_ that looks like some _hot guy_ and who's technology is probably so far advanced that trying to imagine it makes Darren's head spin.

And he's kind of done with that. The head spinning shit.

If robots can think (and maybe this one can! Who fucking knows?!), Darren is pretty sure this one would think he was crazy as he makes his way to the couch, still laughing as he plops down and only stopping long enough to take a swig of his beer.

"You… You are really something else, aren't you?" Darren shakes his head, staring up at the ceiling.

"I am not human, that is correct," the robot responds, and Darren huffs out a laugh, tipping his head forward just enough so that he can see it.

"No, you're not… But someone tried very, _very_ hard to make you as human as possible." Darren sits forward then, resting his arms on his knees and staring at the robot intently. It's better, Darren decides, to look at this all like some sort of math problem than to let it bundle his nerves up until he feels delusional. His brain keeps trying to shy away from the robot's existence, but the more he tries to ignore the fact that it's _real_ , the more on edge he feels.

But it is real, and now that he's starting to actually accept that, he can push past all the stupid cautious feelings like _uncertainty_ and get down to the one that's really been driving him crazy—how much he just wants to _know_.

"Who was it? That made you?" Darren asks.

"…I do not know," the robot responds. Darren furrows his eyebrows.

"Where are you from?"

"I do not know."

"Okay, why were you created?"

"I do not know."

"How about why you look a human? Or even _how_ you look like a human?"

"I do not know."

Darren sighs. "Do you know anything?"

"Yes," the robot replies simply, but it doesn't elaborate. Darren can't help but smile—does this robot have a sense of humor, too?

"And it doesn't bother you that you don't know about those things?"

"Should it bother me?" The robot asks, and Darren almost straight out says what his gut tells him to— _no, you're a robot, it doesn't matter to you_. But then he realizes that the robot didn't actually answer his question, just asked another question in return. Darren glances to the kitchen, thinks about the cup of water.

Whoever made this robot gave it the capability to learn at the same rate as humans—if not faster, Darren hasn't exactly tested it out yet. Darren might not know why, or _how_ , but he does understand that that's what's happening. If he tells a robot to feel bothered, will it? Robots don't have emotions, but then again… Robots don't look like humans, either.

"It would bother me," Darren responds in lieu of straight out answering. The robot doesn't say anything in response,and Darren actually starts to wonder if this robot _can_ think, and actual thoughts, not just processes that trigger functions and keep it operating. Darren wonders if he'll ever get to look inside the robot's head, like maybe he would find answers there.

His stomach growls, and he realizes he really needs to eat something.

"Do you know how to cook?" Darren asks, surprised by how conversational he sounds.

"I do not—"

"Don't," Darren interjects, and the robot almost seems to falter in surprise.

"Excuse me?" It's a simple clarification request, but Darren can't help but think it sounds kind of sassy, even in monotone.

"For as much trouble as someone put into making you look like a human, they certainly left you sounding like a robot. It's called a conjunction. It wouldn't hurt you to use one every once in awhile. Or, you know, basically always, unless you _want_ to sound like a robot."

"I am a robot."

"Yeah, we both know that, thanks. But… You could pass for human, you know." Darren tilts his head to the side. He wonders how much this robot can learn. Can it change its vocabulary? Can it learn intonation?

"I do not—"

"Don't," Darren interjects again, smiling this time.

"I do not—"

"Don't."

"I do not—"

"Don't." Darren's smile gets bigger. "I can do this all night."

"I do not—"

"You _don't_."

"I do not—"

" _Don't_." If Darren didn't know any better, it's almost like… The robot is starting to get aggravated with him. Its tone might not be changing, but its face is pinching almost like it feels frustrated with Darren's behavior.

The key word being _feels_. Robots do not _feel_ , but Darren is starting to think that all of the things that robots absolutely cannot do… This one, for some unknown reason, _can_.

Maybe he should be afraid, but he's already banished that emotion away. The only thing left in its place is absolute awe.

"I _do not_ —"

" _Don't_."

And there it is. Very subtle. A sharper edge to the robot's words that wasn't there before, a change that leaves Darren feeling giddy and elated.

"I don't understand!" The robot practically yells, and Darren stares in absolute shock. After a few moments, the robot seems to mirror Darren's look of surprise… Except that isn't what this is at all. This isn't monkey-see, monkey-do, like before. Darren was being annoying, and the robot got annoyed. Which Darren can only deduce to mean that the robot _felt_ annoyed.

"…clearly," Darren says, setting his chin in his hand as he gazes at the robot in wonder. "You do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Read & Reblog on Tumblr](http://missmichellebelle.tumblr.com/post/84665721225/a-boy-manufactured)


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